Chapter 2
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Serf's Son (2)
Even though there had been such an unfortunate incident in the village today.
In the late afternoon, Lian's father returned home looking unusually cheerful.
He was even carrying a package in his hand—something they rarely saw.
"Oh my! What's this? Meat? Where on earth did you get this?"
"Bought it, obviously. You think I picked it up off the road or something?"
"Well, isn't that something! Did you strike it big today?"
"Something like that."
"Oh, come here! You deserve a kiss for this!"
Lian quickly turned his head away.
His parents' displays of affection were like watching orcs and goblins smooch—it hurt his eyes.
Anyway, they were a couple with annoyingly good chemistry, even if they treated their one and only son like an afterthought.
Yet it was a mystery why they never had another child.
And during this busy harvest season, he'd sent his son on all sorts of errands while he gambled away at the tavern.
What a model head of household.
"Hey, you."
Smack!
The familiar sting of his father's hand hit the back of Lian's head.
If he'd bothered to give him a name, why not use it?
He couldn't understand why his father always used the back of his head as a doorbell.
"What is it, Father?"
"Go to the windmill for me."
"Now? At this hour?"
"Yeah. I left a sack of wheat there earlier and forgot."
Lian's brow furrowed slightly.
At this time, Uncle Milton, the windmill keeper, would already be home.
It was an obvious waste of a trip.
"Uncle Milton's probably gone by now. I'll go tomorrow morning."
"You little shit—I'm telling you nicely, and you talk back? Get going!"
Lian's father rolled up his sleeves, looking ready to swing a fist any second.
But for some reason.
Normally, a punch or something would have already flown by now, but this time it was just a gesture.
He must have won big at the gambling table; he was in a good mood.
"No more lip. Go."
"Yes, yes, got it."
Still, you never knew when a fist might fly.
Lian dragged his unwilling feet into motion.
But before heading to the windmill, he stopped by the barn to grab a sickle and tucked it into his belt.
Maybe because of that morning's events, but something felt off.
"Hope it's just my imagination."
But if something really happened, the whisper would warn him ahead of time, like always.
He hurried to the windmill before the sun fully set.
Upon arriving at the windmill.
Lian blinked in surprise at the unexpected sight.
A faint light flickered through the half-open door.
"What the...? I've never seen a light on here since I was born."
Did his father know about this and send him on purpose?
Thanks to that, it wouldn't be a wasted trip after all.
"What is it, Uncle Milton? Future lordship dropping by, so you're pretending to be diligent all of a sudden...?"
As Lian pushed the door open and stepped inside, his body froze in place.
"You're here. Come in."
For some reason, a young man in flashy clothes that didn't suit the place at all was posing at the table.
The future lord himself.
But his knight escorts were nowhere to be seen.
"Sorry, my lord. Looks like you were waiting for someone else. I must have the wrong—"
"Stop. I didn't tell you to leave."
He tried to slip out quietly, but it didn't work.
Only then did Lian realize his father hadn't won big at gambling.
That damned bastard had sold off his one and only son.
"Impressive. From afar, I doubted my eyes, but to think a gem like this was hidden in this backwater."
Chills ran down his spine.
Not just the sleazy tone, but the sticky gaze made his skin crawl.
But more than that.
The reddish nail marks on the lord's son's neck confirmed Lian's suspicions.
No doubt—this man had killed Nora.
But why?
"Take off your clothes. That's an order."
"Pardon...?"
It couldn't be a body search.
The lord's son was trying to act dignified.
But his crotch was already bulging with desire.
He instantly understood how Nora had died.
"I won't say it twice. Strip."
"Must be some misunderstanding? I'm a guy, you know."
"Doesn't matter."
A sudden crisis of chastity.
Lian wanted to unload every curse he knew.
"I said I won't repeat myself. Don't make me treat you like that dead wench."
Clink.
The lord's son drew a mirror-smooth blade and threatened him.
But something was off.
Even under such direct threat, unlike that morning, no whisper came to his ear.
Had he relied too much on that mysterious voice for danger detection?
If not...
"No."
"What?"
"I said I'm not taking off my clothes."
The lord's son's eyes widened in shock.
"How dare you? You have no right to refuse."
"And you have no right to demand this, Young Master. Not under this kingdom's laws."
Lian stood with his hands behind his back, staring straight at the lord's son's face.
Not a hint of intimidation—an upright posture.
In contrast, humiliation and rage spread across the lord's son's face.
"Insolent cur! What does a lowly serf know of laws to spout them before me?!"
"Does the lord know his son goes around doing this?"
"Shut up!"
Instead of drawing the sword at his waist, he stormed forward in fury and grabbed Lian's slender neck with both hands.
Probably what he did to Nora, too.
Sure enough, that overly pristine blade was just for show.
"You brat lost your damn mind! Who do you think you—?!"
At that moment.
Confusion flashed across the lord's son's face, and he hastily backed away.
But it was already too late.
A red streak of blood now stained the sickle in Lian's hand.
"Eek...! Hic!"
Bright red blood gushed from the fresh line across the lord's son's throat.
The cut was deep enough to sever his windpipe—he couldn't even scream properly.
Even as he fumbled for his sword, his blood-slick hands only slipped on the hilt.
"Should've drawn it from the start, you idiot."
"H-Hee...!"
Even if he managed to draw it, he couldn't stop his body from cooling.
A few short seconds passed.
Only one set of breaths echoed in the windmill.
Lian wiped the blood droplet from his cheek with the back of his hand and let out a long sigh.
He'd killed a man, but surprisingly, he felt nothing—just calm.
No thrill of vengeance for his childhood friend.
Just a vague dread thinking about what came next.
"Guess running is my only option."
Self-defense? Such modern logic wouldn't fly here.
A lowly serf killing the lord's son?
His whole family would be massacred for it.
And if he just fled, the lord would raze the village as an example.
"A village that can't protect one kid? No point staying."
But that wasn't Lian's concern.
Lian walked south without looking back.
His final destination: the neighboring Castel Kingdom to the south.
A country at war with Bordia for decades—perfect for a noble-killer to seek asylum.
But Lian, who'd lived his whole life in this remote village, had no idea of the proper route.
And to evade the lord's pursuers, he'd have to leave the roads, but venturing too deep into the forest meant becoming monster fodder.
Even reaching the border safely, it'd be a battlefield.
So his plan: smuggle himself out.
He'd never been, but he knew of a small fishing village somewhere south.
It was the source of the salted fish—the only seasoning on village tables.
And the Village Head's secret wine hookup.
As a farmer, he could attest: this climate wasn't suited for grapes.
Anyway, fare wouldn't be an issue.
He'd taken valuables from the lord's son's corpse—sword and all.
But one serious problem remained.
His escape route was predictable enough for knights.
"Ah, damn it. How many guards for a piss-ant village like this?"
Five sleepless days of walking.
Yet soldiers camped at the village entrance, commanded by knights.
With his standout looks, passing through unnoticed was impossible.
"Tch. Didn't want to use this method..."
Hiding in the brush to scout, Lian cautiously backed away.
Time to use some village wisdom.
"There it is—leprosy weed! Grows here too, huh."
He crushed the leaves he'd foraged deep in the woods and smeared the sap thickly on his face.
Boiled water from this plant was great for washing out bloodstains—hence its other name, moonbloom.
A potent natural bleach, so handle with care—but now he'd use that to his advantage.
Moments later.
Insane itching hit, twisting his face.
"Grrgh... Here it comes. Comes...!"
His face swelled red and puffy like he'd been stung by a swarm of bees.
That's why they called it leprosy weed back home.
He rinsed off the excess sap in a stream, then tore cloth into strips and wrapped his face like bandages.
Then he strode boldly to the village entrance.
"Hey, kid. Halt."
Sure enough, a soldier called him out.
"Yes? What's up?"
"Why the bandages? Suspicious. Untie them."
"It's... kinda gruesome..."
Lian hesitated theatrically before loosening them.
His inflamed skin was blistered and ugly.
"Ugh...! Gross!"
The soldier recoiled like he'd seen a plague victim.
Then he whispered to his buddy.
"Hey. The guy's supposed to be a pretty boy, right?"
"Yeah, that's what we were told."
"Hm. Not this leper kid, then."
"True, but should we let a freak like that through?"
"What's it matter? This ain't a city."
Folks outside rural grannies wouldn't know leprosy weed.
The soldiers, hearing the opposite description, didn't suspect a thing.
And this tiny fishing village seemed lax on quarantine anyway.
They weren't even stationed here to guard it.
"Fine. Move along, kid."
"Ah, yes sir. Thanks."
Thus, Lian traded days of itching for safe entry.
A dingy tavern in the corner of the docks.
A tin mug hung in place of a sign, catching the eye.
Lian scanned the interior upon entering.
No customers except a drunk passed out in the corner since midday.
"Here for food?"
The gruff owner, wiping tables, spoke curtly.
"Is this the smugglers' barrel? Looking for a ship to Castel."
The owner eyed Lian suspiciously.
His ragged clothes and bandaged face drew a scowl.
"Fearless brat. Didn't you see the soldiers swarming the village these past few days?"
"Saw 'em."
"And you still want to go to enemy lands? You sane?"
"That's why I came here instead of the harbor."
A secret the Village Head, tipsy on wine, had let slip just to Lian.
He'd half-doubted it until seeing the tin mug himself.
"Sorry, that business shut down long ago."
The owner showed his right arm—severed below the elbow.
Caught smuggling and punished, no doubt.
Explained why the Village Head's temper flared without his wine lately.
"Enough for reopening?"
Lian pulled a gold ring inset with a large ruby from his pocket.
The owner's dull eyes sharpened instantly.
"Stolen?"
"Family heirloom."
"Eh, doesn't matter where it's from."
As the owner reached, Lian snatched it back and shook his head.
"Get me to my destination first."
Illegal deals like this? Pay after, or get backstabbed.
The owner pondered briefly, then grinned yellow teeth.
"No change, heads up."
"Fine. Just get me there safe."
"Dawn tomorrow. Before sunrise—don't be late. He'll meet you at the docks."
The owner nodded toward the dozing drunk in the corner.
His leg was a peg.
"Thanks."
Lian smiled.
Soon, freedom from cursed serfdom.
A new life as a freeman awaited.